Rewriting Legends
by EAD13
Summary: Sequel to Reactants. Now that Quintus has gotten things figured out, the spotlight turns to Fjori, who has a past she'd rather run from, a seemingly impossible mission, and a namesake whose tale she'd rather not reenact. The legend of the original Fjori ended in tragedy, but she will fight with all she has to earn a happy ending for the two of them.


"So, do you know the legend of Fjori and Holgeir?"

The young man sitting beside her on the bench of the carriage shook his head slowly. "I know of it, at least. Nurelion mentioned something about it when he told me your name, but that's all." He paused, studying his companion's face with interest. "Were you named for the Fjori in the legend then?"

The Nord woman sighed, leaning back as far as she could without falling over the side of the moving vehicle. For just a moment, her eyes wandered across the flat grasslands to the north, where they began to turn into rocky outcroppings. Beyond that, she knew, were the marshes of her childhood. This was her homeland, and her name had been just one more way of reinforcing her ties to it. "I was. My parents had hoped that I would grow up to be a powerful warrior like she was, the Nordic ideal for a woman." Fjori fell silent again, this time staring down at the wooden planks beneath her.

"And? What did this Fjori character do in the legend?"

She looked up at her Imperial lover. The curiosity in his eyes and his insistent prodding brought a smile back to her face. No doubt he was trying to solve the puzzle of why she had brought up such a random topic; Quintus was always piecing things together. "She was a skilled huntress who led her forest clan. Her skill with a blade was unmatched. Clearly, my choosing the war axe deviated from the legend a bit, but my parents never complained too much about that."

"And Hromir?"

"You mean 'Holgeir'?"

"Yeah, like I said, Hongir."

Fjori burst into a laugh. "You are horrible with Nord names! How did you ever learn mine so quickly?"

Quintus smirked. "Because it belonged to a lovely and very kind-hearted mercenary that piqued my interest. Amazing what kind of motivation infatuation provides."

She laughed again, playfully shoving him. "Hey, Holgeir must have been lovely too. I mean, he and Fjori fought in a duel to the death representing both of their respective clans, but by the end Fjori ended up in love with him!"

"Hmm, nothing says romance like violence." The alchemist shook his head in confusion. "Dare I say that is a Nord thing an Imperial like me will never understand?"

"You may. I'm fairly convinced it must be. But don't worry; it isn't a standard courtship practice or anything."

"That's a relief! So, did he at least let her win or something so she'd fall in love with him?"

This earned a scoff. "Any Nord, man or woman, would take that as an insult, not a romantic gesture. The battle ended in a draw. They destroyed each other's weapons until they couldn't fight any longer. But they were both so impressed with each other's skill that they became lovers, uniting their clans under the two strongest warriors in the land."

"They did, huh?" Suddenly, a frown crossed his face, and he folded his arms. Well, it seemed he finally figured out where this was heading.

"In the end, it was a tragedy. He was bitten by a snake, she crossed to Akavir to bring back the cure, then the same snake bit her and she died. He built them a tomb and then killed himself so they could all live happily ever after in Sovngard."

"So, I'm hoping your parents don't want to mimic the entire story," he said carefully, gaging her for a reaction that would confirm or deny his suspicions.

"No. But I'm not sure how much of it they'd like to see replayed…" Fjori reached out and let her hand rest on his forearm. Today, unlike most days, she was not wearing all of her armor, so her gauntlet-free touch was gentle and warm. "I just…honestly, I am worried. Worried they are going to say something to totally embarrass me in front of you. Worried they are going to say something about you in front of you. But I can't just hide you away, and I don't want to. They need to know that I'm serious about you, and I could care less about what they might expect."

Quintus gave a brave smile. "They are pretty much the most Nordic of Nords, aren't they? I'm going to stick out like a sore thumb."

"We don't have to stay long," she assured him quickly, leaning down to rest her head on his shoulder. "You know I wouldn't want to anyhow. I just need to have a day or two to check the local tombs for more words of power. Perhaps while we're out exploring you can show my mother some practical alchemy, or at least dabble around with her facilities."

There was a moment of silence, until finally he unfolded his arms and wrapped them around her waist, pulling her in tighter despite the chest plate she was still wearing. Her hand found his, covering them and fingering the ring he wore. Knowing he wore this gift she'd forged just for him always eased her mind, but the words that followed helped too. "Don't worry about me. I can certainly do this one thing for you at the very least. Besides, I'm sure it won't be as bad as we are both thinking…"

"Yeah, because it will be worse!"

The pair both flinched at the unanticipated sound of Lydia's voice. The housecarl had been draped out on the opposite bench looking very much asleep, and still didn't move even as she uttered those words. "Have you been awake this whole time?" Fjori demanded in annoyance. While she was coming to terms with being public in her relationship with Quintus, she still didn't like the thought of such intimate conversations being eavesdropped on.

"Of course. How can I sleep with you two talking over there?"

"I imagine if you were actually tired it wouldn't be an issue…" Fjori muttered crossly.

Before Lydia could counter, the carriage drove over a loose paver in the road, jolting everyone in the cart. "Sorry 'bout that," the driver called back. "The road to Morthal doesn't see as much use, so they don't keep it as well maintained. I'll do my best to avoid those."

"Thanks," she called up, then turned back to her companions. "Doesn't see much use. Understatement of the century. Nobody goes to Morthal."

"What will it look like when we get close?" Quintus wondered, getting himself settled back in his seat.

Like death in land form. That was what she wanted to say anyhow, but she held her tongue. "You'll see the marshes. There's always a mist, at least, it seems that way. It's too cloudy and chilly for the trees to ever grow many leaves, so there's more low shrubs and moss, especially the closer you get to the Sea of Ghosts as the water gets saltier. Plenty of Deathbell and Swamp Fungal Pods growing like weeds. Mostly though, if these plains are gold, Morthal is gray. Believe me, you'll know when you see it."

With that said, Fjori turned away and pretended to study the horizon. Already she could feel the chill sinking into her bones, a chill not even the snowy city of Windhelm could ever inflict her with. Wasn't going home supposed to be a happy experience? Why did it feel like the closer she got, the more color was drained from her world? By the Nine, hopefully with Quintus and Lydia at her side this wouldn't be as unbearable as she anticipated.


End file.
